


Turning Point

by greygerbil



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friends With Benefits To Romance, M/M, Thom Rainier Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-21 20:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Blackwall knows that the last thing he needs to do is fall for Varric.





	Turning Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hairbud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairbud/gifts).

Varric’s hair was spread out over the pillow, the tie lost somewhere between the sheets covering Blackwall’s bedstead. The colour of it was the same as the straw on which they laid, almost golden in the soft light of the torch. Blackwall resisted the urge to run his fingers through it, since he wasn’t sure that Varric was sleeping and though the worst he would have gotten in response was likely a smart joke at his expense, it felt too risky. Varric was a smart man. He would eventually learn of the war in Blackwall’s head even if he showed him only glimpses.

When they had first fallen into bed together, after an evening at the Herald’s Rest talking of jousting, Blackwall had not thought much of it. He was not who he said he was and that poisoned his relationships with everyone. Still, Varric and him were only cordial and looking to have a bit of fun, no strings attached, so when it happened again and again, Blackwall did nothing to stop it. It was a hard enough life they led with the Inquisition and it could end any moment. He did not regret having followed the Inquisitor, but there was no reason not to make the Hissing Wastes or the cursed moors of the Fallow Mire a little more hospitable by crawling into a willing man’s tent.

The problem was that they didn’t just sleep together. Who did? Of course you talked. Joked. Blackwall had to be careful not to reveal too much, as it would have been easy when they laid together under the same sheet, speaking about this and that. Luckily, Blackwall could remain silent often, as Varric was always chatting and pleasant to listen to. Once he really got going, you could see why people swallowed any tall tale he told them. Making up bullshit wasn’t his only talent, though. He had a good head on his shoulders despite all the jests and had probably been through more than he let on. In fact, he’d confessed that he was pretty sure that it all went back to him – Corypheus, Red Lyrium, the whole mess.

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do to make up for it,” he’d told Blackwall after Adamant.

“You couldn’t have known what you’d find down there when you went to the Deep Roads. It’s not your fault.”

Blackwall did not blame him; he doubted anyone but Varric did. Some risks you couldn’t be expected calculate – they were too far off, too fantastic. No, Varric was not like Thom Rainier, someone who’d known what sadness and destruction he would cause and done it, anyway. Maybe that had made it so easy to fall for him, knowing that in the end, Varric was nothing like himself.

He dug his hand into the straw behind Varric’s head, chasing the thoughts away. Should the truth ever surface it would hurt Varric, as any friend lying to you might, but no worse than the other Inquisition members. He had to made sure it stayed that way.

-

The true test of his feelings came when Bianca arrived. Blackwall knew nothing about her, but enough about the crossbow to say that whoever she was, she was a pivotal figure in Varric’s life. Watching them for more than a few minutes made it obvious that she wasn’t just a friend, either. The tension and hurt between them, the attempts at a light-hearted banter that turned ugly on her side and quiet on his, all pointed exactly one way.

Blackwall trekked through a cave with the two dwarves and Dorian at the Inquisitor’s behest. He kept his mouth shut the entire time. No point in talking. No point even in trying to cheer Varric up when she had gone. Though he couldn’t say if what had been between them at some point still existed, it was not like he could make some claim here, offer himself as an alternative. Their past had at least happened between two people whose lives were their own. Blackwall cowered behind the name of another.

-

Sometimes, you just couldn’t help picking at a raw wound, though. It was a terrible human habit.

“I thought your friend would come back to Skyhold with us,” Blackwall said, off-handed, as Varric sat in the empty stable Blackwall had claimed for himself over his latest manuscript and Blackwall was polishing his shield across the barn from him.

It had become habit for Varric to abandon the great hall sometimes and instead work on his writing in Blackwall’s den. “You’re quiet and you don’t want sneak peaks, so it’s perfect,” he’d claimed, the first time he’d sat down at a small table in the corner. Blackwall hadn’t been strong enough to tell him no. Varric’s quiet presence, the rhythmic scratching of his pen and the rustle of paper, were calming.

Varric grimaced.

“I think she planned to, but I spoke to her and – we didn’t part on good terms.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Blackwall said. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie. He didn’t want them together, but he also didn’t want Varric hurting and there wasn’t much he could do about the latter.

“Nah, it’s fine.” Sighing, Varric put the pen down next to the ink well. “It had to happen eventually. Actually, I’m pretty sure it should have happened a decade ago. It’s not like we were together at this point, she has her husband and me, well... we were clinging to an idea.”

“Probably good to make the cut, then.”

Varric glanced back at the paper, then up at Blackwall. “It was because of you, hero, since I assume you’ll probably figure it out eventually.” He raised a hand. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. It doesn’t matter what happens between us. It just didn’t feel honest to hang on to Bianca when – well, I guess in a story I’d write that I lost my heart to someone else. But then, I always was a crap romance author.”

Blackwall stared at him for a moment, throat suddenly dry. Varric was always irreverent, so full of quips and easy answers that you could miss the fact that he was just as prone to get trapped by his emotions as the rest of them – as if his relationship with Bianca hadn’t been proof enough. That, Blackwall figured, was probably the point of Varric’s attitude. If you can’t really keep it all at arm’s length, at least pretend you do.

He owed him an answer, Blackwell realised, after a long silence. Of course, he should have said that this meant nothing to him. It would have been easiest on both of them. However, after building a whole life of lies, this one suddenly didn’t seem to want to pass his lips.

“I wish I could, but you don’t know me well enough, Varric. I am not for someone like you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You need someone you can have a life with. Someone better than me.”

“I had no life with Bianca and I let that go on for almost twenty years.” Varric snorted. “Probably doesn’t say anything good about me. What I mean is, I don’t need someone to hold my hand every day. If we manage to not have the world collapse because of Corypheus, you’ll go be a valiant Grey Warden while I’ll probably try to piece Kirkwall back together or something, and we meet occasionally to watch a tourney.” He shook his head. “What makes you a bad choice, anyway?”

“I can’t even begin to tell you.”

Wordlessly, Varric got up from his chair and crossed the room. As Blackwall was sitting, he could reach up high enough to press a firm kiss on his lips. Blackwall was too weak to pull away. Varric put his hands on Blackwall’s chest an Blackwall embraced him.

There was a polite cough from the direction of the open door. The Inquisitor regarded them with a bemused smile. Blackwall was not usually the type to blush, but the fury of emotions still swirling through him plus being seen with Varric desperately clutched in his arms had the blood rushing to his head.

“Your Inquisitorialness, we’re having a moment here,” Varric said, with his usual casual charm. Blackwall was suddenly very grateful to have him here to handle the talking.

“Sorry to interrupt. I need you at the War Table, Blackwall, but if you’re busy…”

“Right, I’ll be there.”

His hand lingered on Varric’s shoulder for a second as he glanced down at the dwarf, who just gave him a nod.

“Go on. We still have a world to save,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Blackwall told himself that they would have to have words later, but when he left the Inquisitor again, he heard two visitors from Orlais speak of an impending execution saying too many familiar names. After he’d stood and listened for a while, making sure he had not misunderstood, he realised there was only one thing to do now.

-

Blackwall could not say what had put him up here next to Mornay on this day. Was it walking with the Inquisitor, who was selfless and determined and bore even the burden of a Fade rift in his hand with such grace? Simply the way his conscience had weighed heavier with every step over the years, knowing the people he had left to carry his burden were still out there? Was it that he had gotten annoyed with his own doubt and anguish over the fact that Varric should have a better man when he was not ready to be that person, yet couldn’t let go?

It didn’t matter, in the end. This was not easy, but doing the right thing rarely was.

The Inquisitor, Cassandra, the Iron Bull, and Varric stood in the crowd, staring up at him. From the look on the dwarf’s face as he spoke, Blackwall had a feeling that Varric already knew what was coming.

-

He had left the plaza in Val Royeaux as Thom Rainier, bound for the dungeons, which he figured would be the last place he’d stay before his end at the gallows. A week later, he was back at Skyhold, a free man but for his duty to redeem himself, as the Inquisitor had decided.

Blackwall followed the crowd that his judgement had drawn as they cleared the hall. He could not say that he was happy, doubted he would be for a long time. Guilt like this didn’t just go away and that was likely for the better. However, Mornay lived and things were clearer now, all cards on the table. Speaking to Varric was just the next step in what he owed to those around him.

He found him outside, where a massive storm had ended minutes ago, leaving the air fresh, cold, and crisp. Varric stood in front of the Herald’s Rest speaking to Cole. Blackwall hung back a little. Much as he would count on honesty from here on out, the last thing he wanted right now was for the spirit to blurt out his innermost thoughts. That much any man should be allowed to keep secret.

When Varric saw Blackwall, he gave Cole a pat on the shoulder and excused himself. The tall, rain-wet grass streaked about his knees as he made his way over.

“Thom Rainier, is it?” Varric asked with a quirk to his lips that Blackwall couldn’t quite read.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Varric waved at him and Blackwall followed across the courtyard. After walking through an empty hallway, they ended up in one of Skyhold’s many unused quarters behind a thick, squealing wooden door. There was a hole in the wall that allowed a glimpse of the thick grey clouds outside, with a few pale beams of sunlight breaking through.

“I’m sorry,” Blackwall said. “That’s all I can say. I didn’t expect us to get so wrapped up in what we were doing that I might matter enough to you to hurt you. I should have stopped sooner, but it was too easy to fall for you.”

“It seems like Thom is actually a charmer,” Varric answered. “Is that all the secrets?”

“Yes. You heard everything at the trial.”

Despite everything, that still felt good to say.

“And Blackwall? Was that just a name you picked?” Varric asked, perching on one of the broken boulders that had tumbled down from the wall.

“He was a Grey Warden I had met. He wanted to make me one of them – Maker knows what he saw in me –, but he died before he could. Protected me from darkspawn.” He could still see the man go down, his blood pool around his boots. “Blackwall deserved to live more than I did, so this was the best I could do.” He frowned. “But really, I was running. I let my men pay the price when I was the one who’d lied to them about what they were doing.”

Varric listened silently, without the usual meaningful looks or quick comments or even a smile. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t have an excuse if that’s what you’re looking for. I had a good life in the Orlesian army, made it to captain, but I was greedy and offered enough gold.” His concerns then seemed so removed from his current mind, so petty and foolish. It would be difficult to return to being Thom Rainier simply because he barely understood the man anymore. “I threw it all away for nothing, in the end, along with the lives of too many people.”

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last to let coin lead you off the right path.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, but as far as making up for it goes, you’re on a pretty good track. Hanging you by the neck might be justice, but it’s not going to help as many people as you have,” Varric said, getting to his feet. “I think the Inquisitor’s decision was right. Of course, we know I’m biased.” There was a hint of a smile now.

Blackwall could feel his heart thumping, treacherous as it was. Justice would also have been Varric turning away from him, but it seemed he would be granted mercy once more.

“You’d still consider me?” he asked.

“Yes.” Varric shrugged. “To be honest, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since you said no word about hearing the Calling when the rest of the Wardens were all driven half-mad by it. That was when I figured something was up with you.”

“Should have known I couldn’t fool you,” Blackwall murmured.

“Well, I didn’t expect this, but, you know. I knew an uncommon Grey Warden myself.” Varric glanced aside, likely remembering the man who had once been his friend back in Kirkwall. “Besides, Grey Wardens who aren’t blank slates are pretty damn common, too. You don’t know what the real Blackwall did before he joined, either, do you?”

“No,” Blackwall said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Nothing like this, though, I’m sure. He was an honourable man.”

“And anyone who met you in the last five years probably thinks the same of you.” Varric looked up at him. “You’ll never be the man you think Blackwall was, but then, Blackwall may not have been the man you think Blackwall was, either. I don’t know, of course, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. In the end, it sounds like he did a lot of good with his life and I’m sure Thom Rainier can, too.”

The chevalier at the Grand Tourney, the real Blackwall, Varric – so many people who Blackwall could only look up to had believed in him, seen something that he still struggled to recognise. Perhaps it was now time to prove them right. He’d already disappointed two, but he could be the man Varric deserved to call his lover.

He kissed him and when Varric leaned into him, confirming that he’d not spoken empty words, Blackwall could not keep himself from wrapping his arms around him and pulling him up, until Varric’s feet were dangling in the air.

“You know I hate it when you do that, Thom,” Varric muttered.

He gave a weak chuckle, gently placing Varric back down.

“Hearing that name is going to take some getting used to.”

But now, there were good reasons to be Thom once more.


End file.
